User blog:Drix153/Tales of the Many Part II
Alaric Huang Alaric strode off the wooden stage to the cheers and clapping of his enraptured audience, a smug smile on his face. As always his speeches were impeccable, his presentation flawless, and his appearance picture-perfect. Unlike our previous leaders, he mused, who so neglected the value of such ostentatious addresses. Alaric made a gesture and several of his loyal bodyguards quickly swooped in to disperse the crowd as he stepped out of the round chamber and down a separate corridor, one reserved only for him. As is my right as Seeker after all, he added internally. As he wove his way through the maze of corridors Alaric lapsed into a moment of quiet reflection. He had truly come so far since his days as a treasurer for this order. Now he stood as the leader of over at least a hundred people; such responsibility befit a man of his nature. He was, of course, the one who exposed the ruthlessness crimes of Rosaline Haines, their founder. Alaric grimaced. The bitch'' he had invested so much in capturing had somehow managed to elude his forces and was now nowhere to be found. In the end, however, it made no difference. He had made sure the damage was done. Now he had the praise and admiration of his peers. What did she have? Nothing. As he approached his private chambers Alaric stopped and listened. Somewhere within the temple a woman screamed and was followed by a chorus of shouts. All traces of Rosaline evaporated from his mind, replaced by panic. Has the temple come under attack, he wondered. Alaric wasted no time and spun, intent on hunting down his personal bodyguards just as his world turned upside down. When he regained consciousness Alaric knew he was badly injured. Pinned beneath the rubble of the collapsed corridor, Alaric forced himself to ignore the pain coursing through his body. He cried for help, and through the debris heard the muffled shouts of others, as well as the ones screamed by the dying. Fear gripped his mind. Not like this, he pleaded silently. Alaric began clawing away at the stone, brick, and timber above him, intent on freeing himself. After what felt like an eternity he successfully dug a large enough hole to crawl out through. Once outside he gulped in the smoke-filled air, relieved that he'd gotten out of what could have been his grave. He began to shout for help but stopped. Something ate away at the corner of his mind. He turned his head and listened. Only then did Alaric realize he wasn't out of danger yet. The screams were gone, replaced by an eerie silence. No, he corrected, panic once more gripping him. A hungry silence. Toby Almaard "It's just me, Ma," Toby called out in response to her mother's inquiry. She brushed the grit and grim from her face as she pulled the sheet back over the entrance to their humble abode; just one among many enclaves in Keldagrim East's cavern walls. "Toby?" Her ailing mother looked up from the rags she called a bed. "What are you doing back home so early? The mines don't close for hours." Toby sighed, having gone through this several times already in the past. "I already told you, Ma," she said, "the mines aren't open right now. Something to do with the union strikes," Toby added as she started clearing the floor with a broom. Their neighbors' refuse was often swept in by accident and would quickly become a problem if not taken care of immediately. Her mother continued as though she didn't hear her. "Your father slaved away in those mines his entire life. He made an honest living, unlike those Tainted Mirage boys you used to hang out with." "Tinted Mirror, Ma," corrected Toby. Her mother made a flippant gesture. "You're staying away from them like I asked?" "Yes, Ma." "Good." Toby rolled her eyes. She finished sweeping out the trash and made her mother more comfortable before switching topics. "I'm going to go see what I can find for us to eat. I'll be back soon," she promised. They exchanged goodbyes as she left. Once she was outside, Toby pulled a dirty rag from her pocket and held it over her mouth and nose. Some days the air would get so bad in East that a dwarf would be on their hands and knees in a matter of minutes, choking and gasping for fresh and clean air. She kept it in place as she traveled from her home to the fringes of the factories, where she found Bodri waiting for her. "About time you showed up," he said, holding out his hands. "Nice to see you, too, Bodri." Without needing to be asked, Toby produced the set of silverware she'd taken from her mother's belongings and gave it to him. Bodri looked the set over and nodded appreciatively. "Not bad, Toby. You might just make a good thief yet." She shrugged. "What do you think I'll get for them?" "You'll get what the boss says they're worth." "What? Come off it, Bodri," Toby exclaimed. "That's at least a few gold pieces right there!" Bodri tucked the silverware out of sight and scowled. "You should be happy you're getting anything at all. Don't think the boss hasn't noticed you and that Black Guard together." Toby flushed angrily. "You know for a fact that's not what it looks like." It was Bodri's turn to shrug. "Do I? The boss sees what he wants to see, and what he's seeing right now isn't good." Toby had nothing to say in return. "Word to the wise? Stay away from him, Toby," Bodri suggested as he made to leave. "And for Guthix's sake, bring me something other than cookware. You're not going to get very far with stuff like this." Ptolemos Ptolemos stifled a yawn, refusing to allow this new and unexpected limitation get the better of him. As tired as he was, there was still work to be done and so little time left. He couldn't be wasting any of it. But damn were his eyelids heavy... He yawned again, an act that did not go unnoticed by his companion. "You really should rest," Rosaline insisted. "Your notes will be there tomorrow." Growling, Ptolemos replied. "No." "You've done so much already, Ptolemy. Just—" "Enough!" Ptolemos shouted, irritated by her incessant nagging and ''that name. It was too much for him right now. Although Ptolemos knew his words hurt her, there was just too much at stake. What if he lost his memories again? Or should this human body suddenly fail him? What then? Certain precautions had to be made, preemptive measures taken. So much could go wrong at any given moment. He had—no, needed—to finish this. So intent on his work, Ptolemos did not sense her hand on his shoulder at first. Her words, however, caught his attention and drew him out of his work. "Ptolemos," she spoke, correcting her earlier mistake, "what you're doing is not healthy, especially for someone who has just returned from a journey like ours. You're going to kill yourself if you keep going on like this." She paused, then softly added, "I don't want to lose you again." "You can't lose what you've never had." His sharp, offhanded remark was out before he could even comprehend what he meant by it. Immediately, Ptolemos felt a strange but familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. The temperature in their room seemed to drop several degrees within a fraction of a second. "How could you say something like that?" Rosaline drew her hand away from him, her voice tight. "After everything I've done for you, what I've went through..." "I didn't mean—" "Do you think it's been easy for me? I've shed blood for you! I've given my life for you!" Ptolemos kept quiet following his failed attempt to rectify the situation. He wasn't even sure what he could say to her that would change what he had already said. "Do you even care about me?" Her question broke the silence between them. It came as a surprise to him. He hadn't been expecting it, yet oddly enough knew what his answer would be. "Of course I do," Ptolemos assured her. "Really? You could have fooled me." "Rosaline..." He rose from his seat, his work now forgotten, and faced her. He could see in her eyes the pain she held, the anger, as well as the hope. "What?" "Contrary to what you may believe, I do care. You've done more for me than anyone else has ever done throughout my entire life. For that I am truly grateful." "That's a start." Suddenly recalling moments from the quiet life he had lived ever so briefly in Varrock, unaware of the world around him, Ptolemos felt something move inside him. In that short span of time he had experienced much, both good and bad. Experiences that he never would have had otherwise. And reliving them now, with Rosaline across from him, Ptolemos finally realized what he had become. Human. Rosaline Haines Rosaline felt angry, hurt, and betrayed. But most of all... she felt alone. While trudging along in the footsteps of her road companions she found herself replaying the tumultuous events of the last few days over and over in her head. Scenes from her and the troupe's largest and most ambitious performance ever flashed before her eyes; the unforgettable after-party with her friends and the other performers, as well as the night shared with Elnathan. It had been bliss then, but now... now it seemed little more than one of the tales Old Lady Sweeney would tell her in the quiet nights of her childhood. Rosaline recalled a conversation she had with the ancient woman and felt a pang of homesickness for her caretaker of several years. "Mother says those stories are just make-believe," Rosaline said, fidgeting under Old Lady Sweeney's scrutiny. "Only the gullible and stupid believe in them." The elderly woman clucked in disapproval while correcting her posture and the frills on her dress. She then responded with a voice strong despite her age. "Your mother would rather deny you the truth, just like your father. They're stubborn and too set in the ways of tradition." She felt the old lady's eyes boring a hole through the back of her head. "Times are changing, child, and you would be wise to heed the warnings." Rosaline gasped at her boldness, but then fell into a bout of giggling before demanding another one of her stories. Her favorite was the one about the dragon Garak and his slayer, the heroine Camorra. "I'm going to be like Camorra when I grow up," Rosaline declared after the old lady finished retelling the tale. "Promise?" Old Lady Sweeney asked. "Promise." And then they laughed, as they always did whenever she made her promises. It was stupid, Rosaline mused.'' I was young and she was old. My parents were right to send her away for filling my head with those fairy tales''... Of course, that was a lie and she knew it. By now the others had gained more ground than her. Dark clouds hung above, promising heavy wind and rains. She felt tired and weak now that the emotions she'd felt earlier had subsided. Rosaline absolutely despised what she had become, but in her condition it was only natural. She wondered whether Elnathan had planned it from the beginning or if he regretted what had happened between them. Without warning Rosaline found herself overcome with longing for something she wasn't quite sure she wanted. Was it was the memories from her own childhood that provoked it, or was it because of the hate she now bore for the man she'd once loved? She kept wondering even as her hand worked its way down to brush over the swell of her stomach. Once there Rosaline knew she'd found her answer when she felt a kick. Category:Blog posts